


The Ace of Spades

by orphan_account



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Depression, Drinking, F/M, Flashbacks, Gambling, Implied Sexual Content, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 18:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18036281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After the tragic events on Fehl Prime, James Vega attempts to bury his past and his sorrows on the streets of Omega.





	The Ace of Spades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bioticfox (ayambik)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayambik/gifts).



> This takes place after the events of Mass Effect: Homeworlds and Paragon Lost and during the events of ME: Conviction. Some ME:C dialogue has been included. I hope you like it!

  
  
The last shot of shard wine hit James Vega like a speeding freighter, knocking a ragged breath from his throat. Through the narrow view of his grimace, the two batarians and turian sitting across from him exchanged a glance, the cards clutched in their hands. Or more, if you counted the extra pair of eyes on each batarian. The turian's left mandible flicked out in what James had come to know as a  smirk.  _ Good.  _ They'd probably think he was too drunk, more liable to make stupid mistakes, more likely to expose his tells.

Honestly, it was the taste, not the proof that made him grimace. Back home, he and  _ tío _ Emilio would drink harder stuff: moonshine, mezcal,  _ ron caña _ .  And that was just after he'd come home from work. Weekends were often a blur as they drank themselves blind, sitting on the banks of Dixon Lake back in California. Whatever it took to get away from Joshua, to forget about him. And yet, here he was, far from Earth on some godforsaken station full of aliens who wanted him dead, trying to run away from Fehl Prime, trying to forget about Fehl Prime. Trying to forget about Delta Squad. About  _ April. _ Her little gap-toothed smile flashed behind his eyes and, for a second, his heartbeat faltered, his stomach in a microsecond of freefall. And then a chill.

_ Focus on the cards, pendejo. _

The scrape of a chair against the floor pried him from his thoughts. The batarian on the right slammed his furry hands over the table, his four eyes narrowed in a glare.

“You filthy human peasant! You're mucking a card!”

These  _ cabrones _ didn't take losing very well, did they? The liquor swimming through his veins made him linger between the realms of numbness and idiotic courage. He held out his hands. “How the fuck would I? I'm wearing short sleeves, furball! Better get those eyes checked.” Maybe leaning more toward idiotic courage.

The first punch hit him square in the jaw and it burned nice and bright through the murky fog of depression he'd been lost in. Adrenaline flooded his veins as if he'd taken a stimulant pack right during combat, and his fists were quick. His first hit found the batarian's upper eyes and met them with a satisfying crunch. There was someone behind him, probably the guy's buddy, pressing the icy muzzle of his gun against the back of James' head. A massive elbow to the side of the assailant's head knocked him out cold, though it sent a round toward the observing turian's drink.

Another bar fight. Just like home.

It ached, and it felt so good and liberating, each punch he landed like lancing the pus out of the virulent abscess that was his mind. Each hit draining the poison within. Each hit for every person lost. Kamille. Mason. Nicky. Essex.  _ April. _

_ Fuck. _

He caught his breath behind an overturned booth, although through Afterlife's neon pink lights, scoping out enemies was more of a challenge. Add in the nice buzz warping his vision, and he might have well been trying to shoot at a moving target on Earth from orbit. He leaned his head back against the cushioned seat and huffed a hoarse laugh. All this just to get killed on Omega in a fucking bar fight.

“Human,” called a dual-toned voice from above. A turian stood, assault rifle at rest in his hands, atop the stairwell.

A bouncer, he figured. Still, James aimed his weapon at him.

“Don't even think about it. You think no one else is watching?” The turian gestured at James' chest with his head. Red dots danced over the gray of his t-shirt. Snipers.  _ Shit. _ “You wanna get outta this alive? I suggest you come with me. Now.”

Bullets, bottles, chips and chairs flew across the club. The pretty dancers had long stopped their entertainment and fled for safety. Shouts and shattering glass drowned out the throbbing bass. Only one way out. James sighed and scurried up the stairs, artfully dodging bar stools as he made his way to what he assumed was a VIP room. A krogan and another batarian flanked a figure overlooking the hellscape that was Afterlife. Curves clad in leather of black and white, all menace and no comfort. A violet fringe at the back of the head identified the figure as asari.

“So you're the one responsible for this clusterfuck?” she asked. Her voice, though quiet, held all the threat of a crouching predator. Danger and violence hidden in shadows, ready to spring at any given moment. Was she the owner?

“Look I wasn't—I wasn't hidin' cards. Dude was just mad he lost.”

She spun on her heel, arms crossed, and gave him an impassive once-over. Her expression gave nothing away, not her glacier-blue eyes, and not the angular tightness of her jaw. It was almost as if she was disappointed by what she saw. Who  _ had  _ she been expecting, exactly? Commander Shepard? Even the mere thought of that stung his chest a little.

“Nevermind that,” she dismissed, shooting a pointed glance at her bodyguards and gestured with her head. The noise of them standing at once was like thunder, and they swiftly left the room in single file. Just who was this asari? With a krogan at her feet like a dog, she had to be someone powerful. James began thinking the dangerous vibe wasn't just a front anymore. Every word she uttered seemed to carry the sobering shadow of a threat. “You're here to do a job for me.”

Before he could interject, she continued, turning back to survey her kingdom from her lofty throne. “Those batarian playmates of yours. I need you to get rid of them for me. Do that and you'll be rewarded.”

“And if I don't? Look, I don't know who the fuck you are, but I ain't no mercenary.”

“Obviously,” she sighed. Whether that was a reference to not knowing her identity or not being a mercenary was unclear. “Just another Alliance soldier running from something or the other. Either way, a waste of time.” And before he could ask how she knew, she said, “I've had you flagged from orbit.” A delicate violet hand made a vague gesture. “I like to keep track of who comes in and out of this station. Especially if they're as likely to cause as much a disruption as you.”

Despite having her back turned to him, her gaze pierced his own through the reflection on the glass. As if she  _ knew.  _ Did she know? Did she know he let thousands die for a bunch of shit data no one needed in the end? Did she know what a failure he was? How small, insignificant he felt right now? James faltered, shuffled on his feet and dropped his gaze momentarily. Whatever staring contest this had been just now, he'd lost. Shit. If only he was drunk again.

There was a hum—a laugh, perhaps—and the muffled thud of footsteps. A long, curvaceous pair of legs carried her toward him. Her eyes scanned him slowly from head to toe again, cruel lips quirked, and it made his pulse race at his neck. A strange feeling, being on this side of the game.

“If you're so set on being a saint,” she began, tracing each syllable with her tongue, “how about we play for it?”

James had to force his mouth into a neutral line from the amused smirk it had been. “Play for mercenary services?” He huffed a laugh. “No way.”

Her bare brows arched, a look of boredom clouding her expression.

“You seemed pretty cocky a few minutes ago. Where's all that confidence now?”

A single step closed the breach between them. Her breath brushed over his chest. He was at least a foot taller than she, and yet her presence overshadowed his: overconfident, self-assured, predatory, as if she could destroy him, devour him. And devour him she did. Her lips were salty-sweet and surprisingly soft, a contrast to the way they pressed and tugged and nibbled his. A wave of pleasant dizziness spun his head, spiraling him into her embrace. Leather and spice and citrus, latex slipping to reveal silky skin, and he was completely lost in her. He was lost in her, inside her, away from it all and James didn't care. Mind-numbing pleasure, the sting of nails against his back, the nip of teeth at his neck. She slithered under his touch, enveloped him like hot bathwater, hurt him like a fresh scrape of concrete against skin, soothed him with a velvet tongue. Had him coming back for more, following her to some hotel, an inn—he didn't quite remember; he was too fucking busy shoving his tongue down her throat—for another dose of her poison.

And just as soon as they'd come back to reality, it was all over. The other side of the quilt next to him was folded over, crumpled with signs of recent movement. She was gone and he hadn't even gotten her name. James sighed and tossed his thick forearm over his head. He hadn't done this sort of shit since before early training camp. Definitely not since he'd broken up with Treeya.  _ Shit,  _ it was all coming back to him again. He languidly rolled over to face the empty side of the bed. Still smelled like her: leather and citrus with a hint of amber.

There, on the white satin pillow case, rested a handwritten note. A rarity, these days.

_ I'd watch my back, Lieutenant. _

_ You've broken Omega's number one rule. _

— _ Aria _

Aria. So her name was Aria.

Wait.

Aria? As in, Aria T'Loak? The Queen of Omega?  _ ¡Pinche madre!  _ Was that whom he'd just slept with? His gut froze over and dropped to the soles of his feet. Throwing the covers off, James scurried for his gun. Surely she or her men would have taken it.

It sat where he'd left it the night before: on the dresser, next to his belt and the ripped condom wrapper. A leaden sigh spilled through his lips in relief. He supposed if she'd truly wanted him dead, he wouldn't have woken up this morning.

Throughout the next few days, he found himself with an incongruous disappointment she hadn't tried to kill him, while keeping his sight over his shoulders. But nothing new happened. The same old shit: beggars begging, addicts getting their fixes, politicians failing at disguising themselves with ridiculous get-ups to score a lap dance or more from a local girl or two. Every day was exactly the same. Nicky, Mason, Essex, and April were all dead. Everyone on Fehl Prime was dead. And no one cared. The universe didn't care. The Alliance didn't give two fucks. Every fucking day he was alive was like spitting on their non-existent graves.

Gambling and alcohol were the few things to temporarily muffle the echo of their screams in the back of his mind, to blur the images of bodies, of ruins, to help him forget his utter and complete fucking failure. Three batarians at his left, a volus in front, and a turian at his right. Once again, his cards were shit. No surprise there.

And yet...

“All in,” he said, pushing the credit chits to the center of the table.

Through the disgruntled murmuring, though, he caught the tinny voice of the television. Emily Wong's voice.

“ _...terrorist acts allegedly carried out by Commander Shepard, batarian officials are demanding retribution.” _

The Commander's mugshot flashed on the screen. Like some kind of criminal. His teeth gritted so tightly his jaw popped audibly.

“ _ Councilor Udina has publicly denied that the Human Alliance had anything to do with the destruction of the mass relay...” _

Washing their hands clean. Fucking bureaucrats and their need to cover their asses. What he'd done, what  _ Shepard _ had done... had it not been for the greater good? And this was what they got for it?

“It's your bet, human!” a batarian growled, but James had already left the table.

“ _ Batarian leaders are calling for Shepard's head—” _

The television screen tore off the wall with a crunch and a sizzle, some of the sparks burning at his skin.

“That's gonna cost you, kid,” a krogan, seated by the bar, said.

The screen hit the floor all glass and sparks and threadbare wires.

“Take my winnings then,” James said. “That should more than cover it.” He turned to leave and added, “Keep the extra, as long as I don't have to listen to that bullshit.”

In hindsight, perhaps that wasn't the wisest answer. Batarians in an uproar, accusing him of being a Shepard sympathizer and, therefore, an enemy. Chairs flew. Fists launched through the air into soft body parts and brittle bone. Blood of all colors stained the floor. More than twice did he have to jump out of broken windows, tuck and roll into another band of angry batarians. Maybe this was what Aria meant. Perhaps today would be the day he'd die. Breaking out of a headlock, he smashed a batarian's forehead with his own and he immediately felt the chill of nausea rocking in his stomach.

Just as he wound back to launch his fist into the batarian's face, a concussive round ricocheted off the concrete.

“Enough!” a baritone voice shouted.

Three human men, heavily armed, stood before them. The one in front sported an official Alliance Navy uniform and carried an air of authority and power around him like a cloak. “Lieutenant James Vega. You're a hard man to find.”

“Admiral Anderson,” James mumbled dumbly, clutching his aching, bleeding head.

“Dust yourself off and follow me. That's an order.”

The last thing he would have imagined was that the Alliance would ever look for him again. The  _ very  _ last thing he would have imagined was that his new assignment was to protect the person he respected and resented the most.

Upon stepping into the shuttle, his breath hitched. It couldn't be.

“Commander Shepard?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my super awesome beta, @ghastlyghost for their insight and patience. ♡


End file.
